


camera-shy

by cakecakecake



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Femdom, Partying, Phone Sex, Sexting, Sexual Inexperience, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25018540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: consider: raihan being too nervous to have ever sent nudes.
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 157





	camera-shy

A lightning storm of bulbs flash around the Leaders as they file their way out of Wyndon stadium. The curtains have finally fallen on the Gym Challenge, and they’re off to celebrate the crowning of the new regional Champion.

In their parade of Galar’s celebrity trainers, Raihan picks up the caboose, the bulk of his frame towering over the fog of glitzy gossip and jabbering spectators. The buzz of screaming fans and scrambling reporters whirrs in one ear and out the other as his RotomPhone floats faithfully about his head, snapping expert shots as he smiles and waves for his camera and no one else’s. 

He’s used to it by now, but this part’s not his favorite. 

“Think they’ve got an open bar this year?” he nudges Nessa once they stockpile into the limousine. She gives him a dry look, shoulders sagging from the tension release. (This isn’t her favorite part, either.) Allister makes a contented noise next to her and takes off his mask as soon as the doors slide shut. The flashing cameras never stop feeling like they’re burning holes through his head, but at least the tinted windows dull the glare. 

“Leon’s gonna need it, I reckon,” he harps on, an aside to Melony, who’s squished up against him. She giggles in that soft, flattering way, her knuckles brushing against her lips. He tries to lean back, but it’s no use getting comfortable. It’s a short ride to the hotel. 

An even more massive crowd awaits them there. The League Association has to clear a path for them just to get inside and while they’re hard at that, Raihan takes the chance to spoil his fans with autographs and selfies. He flashes his one canine in a magnetic smile, and the girls go wild (this part, he likes). It’s only when Allister tugs on his sweatshirt that he winks a goodbye, shouting I-love-you’s and well wishes to the chanting admirers. He scoops him up, roaring a laugh at the squeals of delight exploding behind them.

“You really are too much,” the tiny Gym Leader scolds him from his perch on his shoulder. Raihan shrugs. 

This next part is the best -- or close to it.

The part where the chatter of the ballroom gets drowned out with music, the bar opens, and a swarm of lovely ladies back him into a corner with nothing to clutch but a chilled beer (They’re serving a Honeycalm brew tonight, unfortunately for him. Could stand to have something with a little more bite). This is the part where he gets to tell jokes and recount his best moves from the earlier match and make everyone smile, to engage and entertain in just the way he likes to, and entertained, they are. They laugh and coo and fawn over him, showering him with compliments and encouragement. Neatly manicured nails rest on the tumbled cotton of his sweatshirt and puckered lips grace the shell of his ear and he gets to feel so, so special -- being the underdog has its perks. 

“Could I trouble you for a selfie, Raihan?”

“Oh, with me too, Raihan, when you’re finished!”

“Mind if I get one too, Raihan? One for the blog?” 

He waggles his fingers, keeping his laughter at an acceptable volume as he revels in the attention, obliging the little group of influencers and bloggers. They take turns with him, one by one snapping shot after money shot, dissolving into the concentrated cluster of guests once they get whatever they need for their RotoGram posts. A thrill short-lived -- one that tends to leave him hollow. 

Raihan groans, combing his way back to the bar to grab something a little harder. Nessa and Milo blow friendly kisses to him as he passes, preoccupied with what looks like an interview. Kabu is mulling around as expected, a water in hand as Melony and Opal chatter and pass a tall flute of champagne between them. Leon passes him, winking with a knocked-out Allister on his shoulder.

“Partied too hard?” he jerks his head toward the kid. Leon guffaws. 

“Barely made it through the fish and chips.” 

“Should we get him a cab?” he jokes.

Leon wrinkles his nose. “Think he’ll be fine. You staying late?” 

“Yeah -- wait, you plannin’ on leavin’ already?” he mopes, frowning. 

“Gotta get the Champion and her motley crew home before curfew!” 

“But you’re comin’ back, right?”

He makes some noncommittal noise over his shoulder and vanishes somewhere past the snack table, leaving him to peruse the open bar alone. Rude ass, leaving him by himself to navigate the party. He finally gets dethroned and Raihan can’t even enjoy it with him. Tony fixes him something on the rocks and he takes it to the balcony, leaning over the rail to take in the sparkling view of the city from the top. 

This is usually the part where he’s drunk enough to challenge Leon to a match on the rooftop, or follow Nessa and Milo to the dance bar up in the east tower of the hotel -- but neither one seems likely to happen tonight, not with his rival on babysitting duty and his league mates off entertaining the press. In some lame turn of events, he’s got his eyes stuck on the peak of Rose Tower, half-empty glass in hand, all alone -- or so he thinks.

“Is that you, Raihan?”

You lean onto the railing, tilting your head to get a better look at him under the hanging lamps. He straightens up from his slouch, looking down at you with a curious eye. Something about you looks familiar, a nostalgic something he can’t quite place. He offers you a helpless smile, reaching out his big hand on instinct. 

“Mm? Sorry, have we met?”

You shuffle on your feet, clutching your glass of wine awkwardly. You’re not the first girl to have issues looking him in the eye -- that part, he never gets used to. 

“Sorry, how awfully rude of me! I’m...” You tell him your name, meeting his face with an eager grin. “I work at the nursery near Turffield. It’s been a few years, but…”

He looks a little bit harder, studying the lines around your eyes, the shape of your mouth. He’s a little tipsy, but something clicks. “Wait, I do know you, you bred my Goodra! Er -- Goomy, back then.”

You breathe out a delighted laugh, edging a little closer to him. “Right! Oh, I’m so glad you remember!” 

“‘Course!” He beams at you, happy having avoided embarrassing himself. Honestly, he’s just glad you weren’t trying to trick him -- people have done that before. He sets his drink on a tea table and relaxes against the wall, wind whipping against his face as he takes in your vision. “Geez, look at you -- how’ve you been getting on?” 

“Alright!” you smile, nodding. “Quite a tourney, then, yeah?”

“Ha, yeah -- kids are getting stronger every year. Didn’t think it’d already be time for Leon to be dethroned.” 

“I hadn’t imagined,” you tell him. “Still doesn’t feel real.”

“Yeah, who you tellin’?” he laughs, smirking at you, grateful when you laugh along with him. “Little bitter that it wasn’t me, but happy to see someone’s finally done it. That little Gloria’s quite a star.” 

“Oh, you were so close though! I know it, I watched all your matches.”

His face softens, brows flying up as intrigue strikes him. “You did? All of them?”

“Every one of them,” you admit, and then in a rush, you slur out an apology. “Sorry, bit embarrassing, now that I mention it.”

A wide crack of a grin splits his face as he just looks at you. You’re pretty, he thinks -- not that he’s not accustomed to pretty girls talking him up in general -- but something about you feels a little different. Like you’re talking just for the sake of talking, and not because you're after something. A certain sincerity he finds most conversations lacking. He feels his stomach somersaulting for it.

“‘S alright,” he says, and then, a little quieter, “Heh, ‘s cute of you.”

“Yeah?” is all you say, but you’re swaying a little closer to him. Close enough that he can feel a warmth radiating from you. Maybe it’s just from the wine you’ve had. Or the whiskey he’s had, if that even was whiskey. He leans a little forward and you get up on the balls of your feet. 

“Yeah,” he hears himself say, and in a brazen moment, he asks you, “You goin’ home after this?” 

“Yeah.” You sound a little disappointed. “Shouldn’t stay too late -- gotta be up for the nursery in the morning.”

“I could grab you a taxi, if y’like.” 

“You sure? I don’t wanna trouble you.” 

“What? ‘S no trouble at all, come on.” 

He flashes that toothy grin nobody’s withstood before and watches something in your eyes glimmer as you take his hand. He ducks his head in the doorway, mindful of his height, melting a little when you giggle at his side. You follow him through the congested ballroom, music still blaring as the two of you maneuver your way to the elevator. He fiddles with his hands in his pockets as you wait for the _ding, ding_. 

The doors hiss open. The click of your heels across the cool marble tile echoes as they shut. You’re the only two people inside. 

He was content to just stare at the flashing numbers on the wall, until he started feeling your eyes on him. Wide and bright. Expectant. You’re standing awfully close. Even in your heels, you’re so much smaller than he is. He turns himself just slightly to face you, and your fingers wind in the dangling strings of his sweatshirt. He has only a breath of a second before you draw him in. 

He hadn’t expected this part. 

He’s been kissed in an elevator before, several times. 

\-- when the fires of his rivalry with Leon were still roaring, and neither of them could think of any other way to relieve themselves besides heated making-out in this very hotel. 

\-- when Nessa told him to shut up one too many times, and he dared her to use her mouth to do it for once.

\-- when he and Sonia both had a little too much to drink after a night of dancing a little too close. 

But this is different. It’s new -- you’re new. Essentially a stranger. He’s never done something like this with a stranger. It feels a little wrong. 

It’s exciting.

You’ve pulled him against you with such ease that he is fascinated, craning his neck to kiss you proper as your hands fiddle with the zipper of his jacket. Raihan breathes harshly through his nostrils, the sweeping feeling in his gut no result from the downward slide of the elevator. He grabs at your waist, pushing you up against the wall to make for an easier position, thrilled when you gasp against his mouth. 

“This alright?” he asks, meeting you with hazy eyes. You smile, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips. Your answer comes with a heavier, deeper kiss, one that makes his heart rate kick up and his head swim. Arms encircled about his neck, you press harder against him, and the blunt of his fingertips rake and dig into the meat of your thighs. The elevator quickens in its descent and his nerves tingle all the more for the dizzying feeling of the drop. You dart your tongue out to trace the edge of his canine and he _growls_. 

“Raihan,” you mutter -- your grip around him loosens. He’s loath to put you back down, but the _beep-beeping_ has signaled your rapid approach to the lobby floor, and while he’d like to keep this up, he can’t risk getting caught by awaiting passengers. With a frustrated grunt, he sets you on your feet just in time for the doors to whisper open, revealing the laughing faces of late-night party-goers. They clamor and gush at the sight of him, quickly bombarding him with picture requests (which he indulges in, albeit with reluctance), and disappear behind the doors in a cloud of heavy perfume and bavardage. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says as you follow him pass the concierge. The staffers wave a friendly goodbye to him, each tossing a curious glance your way as you exit. 

“Such is the life,” you joke, and he grins back at you, again, grateful. You seem to just Get It -- he likes that. 

He takes his RotomPhone from his pocket and summons an air taxi with the app, sinking onto a bench and stretching out his legs.

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” you tell him, but he shrugs. 

“Wanted to.” 

You flash him a warm smile. There’s that wicked glint in your eyes again, and he fixates on it, unblinking. 

“Really wish that elevator ride would’ve been about twenty minutes longer,” he teases you, reaching for the hem of your party dress. You finagle with his fingers there, looping your pinky around his index. 

“Is that all it takes?” You stick your tongue out and he roars into a laugh, raking his other hand across his jaw. 

“Got a mouth on you,” he says. “I like that.” 

The screech of a service Corviknight hollers overhead -- the taxi’s approaching. Raihan’s smile falters, watching you gather yourself. 

“Thanks for um,” you start, looking up at him as he rises to stand, “walking me out.” 

“Sure,” he says, shifting on the spot. You press your lips together into a hard line, like you’re trying to keep yourself from saying something, and maybe he’s just imagining things, but the air seems to condense around the two of you. He swallows thickly before he says something a little brave, something he hasn’t to anyone in a long time -- he passes you his RotomPhone.

“Here, why don’t you erm -- text me when you get in?” 

“Oh!” you spurt, fumbling to enter your number. You take out your own phone to enter his. “Sure, of course -- ” 

“Be seein’ you, then,” he tells you, waving you off as you make to catch your ride. Before you’re too far out of earshot, you cast him a coy glance over your shoulder. 

“I hope so.”

\---

People usually forget to say something once they make it back.

In all fairness, Raihan typically forgets he even asks. It doesn’t usually matter (except in Leon’s case, because heavens forbid he gets himself lost), but tonight, he finds himself locked out of focusing on anything _but_. It's been hours since you left, and nothing. Galar’s not so big that it would take that long for you to get back, even from Wyndon back to Turrfield. Maybe you just forgot, or fell asleep. (Sonia always did that.) 

He supposes he could just text you and see for himself, but that’s against his Rule -- he never instigates. The great dragon tamer can’t afford to look thirsty.

_“You ever think that’s why you don’t get dates?”_ Sonia’s told him. _“You’re too intimidating to message first!”_

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he should swallow his pride for once in his life -- but why this time? All he knows about you is your name and where you work. What makes you so special? 

His Rotom buzzes from its place on the nightstand. 

_+2 messages from xxx-xxxx-xxxx_

**made it home ;)**   
**xxxx sent you a photo.**

Oh. So you didn’t forget. Even sent him a little “proof of life” for his troubles. There’s a swooping feeling in his gut like being in the elevator again as he hovers over the second message bubble.

[ _open IMG file?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

Oh. 

You definitely made it home, then. Unless it’s normal for you to strip down to lingerie in a public place, or somewhere that’s not your own home. Shit. Your face isn’t in it, but the rest of you sure is, laced up in a strappy ensemble that cuts into your hips. A whisper of flowery lace does little to cover your chest. For a moment it feels much like his brain short-circuits. Were you wearing that under your party dress? 

He had you alone in an elevator and hadn’t bothered to find out? 

He must have been sitting staring at your picture for quite some time, because Rotom buzzes again, the flash of notifications shaking him from his stupor -- 

**omg that was a little too forward of me wasn’t it  
you probably get a ton of unsolicited nudes already, i didn’t even think about that  
i am so sorry**

Shit. The last thing he wants you to do is think that, even if it’s true -- he does get them often, but he doesn’t really get so...ah. He rubs at his temples, willing his heart to calm. Flustered. He’s flustered. He fumbles to type something coherent in response, on tenterhooks at the foot of his bed.

_you don’t have to apologize  
It’s not unsolicited if i like it._

You don’t leave him hanging nearly as long as he had you. 

**oh, i’m relieved  
um  
what else do you like then**

Gods, when was the last time someone had asked him that? What did he say? What does that even mean? Is there a wrong answer to this? 

Raihan stares at the screen, thumbing over the keyboard -- he has an idea, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or ask anything of you that could be inappropriate. But seeing as you’ve already been bold enough to send a picture, he guesses he can afford to be a little bold, too. It takes him a good minute, a long enough one that he can see that you’ve started typing again, but he finally presses send --

_would like seein’ more of you_

Again, your response is almost instant. That feels a little better -- feels a little less like he’s begging and a little more like you want to do this just as badly as he does. 

**really?  
well then**

_xxxx sent you a photo_  
[ _open IMG file?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

Raihan holds his breath, chewing on his lip hard enough to break the skin. The soddy excuse for a bra is gone, and your hands have slipped past the crisscross of satin to sink under your panties. You’ve angled it to give him a clear overhead view, like he’s looking down at you pinned against his mattress. He starts typing back before he can process it fully, mind already racing with a wicked cooked-up scenario.

_gods, girl  
think my heart stopped for a minute  
are you really touching yourself right now?_

**lol you are too much ;)  
but yes i am**

In a brazen moment of brain-fog, he shamelessly asks you, instantly:

_show me_

And you provide for him within the minute:

_xxxx sent you a photo_  
[ _open IMG file?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

_fuck. that’s really hot_

**you’re really hot  
i want to see you too**

The flutter in his stomach is quickly replaced with a knot the size of his fist, dropping to his feet. 

_me?_

**no, the other hammerlocke gym leader :p**

He chortles, but it doesn’t melt his nerves. This is something he’s never been asked. Of all the unwarranted racy photos he’s come across in his direct messages, nobody’s ever asked for any in return. Why would they, when there’s an abundance of photos across his and his manager’s RotoGram accounts? Him at the pool, him in the locker room, him at parties, all dressed up and down, fulfilling each fantasy any fan could hope to find -- but not you, it seems. 

Well. You’re hardly just a fan -- especially at this point -- and not that he doesn’t want to indulge you, but...

**is the great raihan feeling shy?**

_no! :P  
just haven’t really sent pictures to anyone before_

He flops back against his bed, the crook of his elbow hiding his face from nothing, heat flushing the length of his neck. You must think it’s ridiculous. It is, isn’t it? One of the most famous celebrities in the world, and he’s never sent a racy picture to anyone personally before. Inexperienced. Nobody expects that. It clicks in his brain that it must seem like he’s lying. His carefully curated bad-boy persona is going to shatter -- at least for you, because this certainly isn’t what you bargained for. You were expecting a wild ride, weren’t you? Especially after that stunt in the hotel -- but even so, all you did was kiss. All you did was kiss! Oh, he’s really pathetic, isn’t he? 

Rotom buzzes, completely derailing his spiraling train of thought --

**oh! really?**

Fuck, well don’t sound so surprised! Well, okay, you don’t sound disappointed, exactly -- shit, this is why he doesn’t do this sexting thing. You never can tell over text. Maybe it’s not a big deal, actually. He’s certainly not going to act like it if you aren’t. 

He decides to be truthful -- fuck saving face at this point. With his luck, you’re too horny to care, given that you’re still touching yourself -- hopefully you really were --

_nobody's actually ever asked_

**oh, i’m so sorry  
i shouldn’t have assumed :(**

Fuck, you’re sweet. He hates that it surprises him so. He’s really got no handle on this sort of thing at all, does he? Fantastic, Raihan. 

_it’s alright, really  
i don’t want you to feel bad, i just  
different kind of performance, i suppose  
wouldn’t want to disappoint_

**looking the way you do? you could never**

His heart skips a beat or two and it’s _so_ unfair. This is the most unfair thing in the world, getting all riled up like this. Over a mildly flirtatious text message, no less. Is this how his fans feel when he replies to comments? How can they stand this torture? 

_hey now, flattery’s an unfair tactic  
i can’t resist_

**oh you can’t, can you?  
then i couldn’t persuade you to sending me picture, could i?**

Fuck. Still so polite, even when you’re adamant. You really are something else, he thinks -- oh, to hell with it. How could he deny you when you’ve been this sweet? You’ve been so generous, too, it would just be a dick move not to return the favor -- 

It’s just a picture, after all. 

So why does he feel so dizzy for it? 

_i will, just  
give me a minute_

He fumbles to get into the bathroom, flickering the lights on and staring at himself in the mirror. His shirt is already unbuttoned around the neck. Tentatively, he draws up the hem so it rides up to the middle of his chest, steadying his phone with his other hand. Eyeing the frame of his selfie in the mirror. 

It’s just a picture, but his heart is beating so fast.

He quickly snaps a photo, opening your back-and-forth and swallowing, hard. 

_you’re about to send a photo to xxxx._  
[ _send IMG file?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

He immediately adds, _is that okay?_

And your response is both instantaneous and enthusiastic.

**oh gods, raihan  
do you know**

He releases a harsh breath through his nostrils, grinning to himself as he collapses back on the bed. Okay, that wasn’t bad at all. Worried for nothing. And your response is so, so cute. 

_know what? ;P_

**oh you think you’re so funny  
you’re lucky you’re so hot**

_xxxx sent you a photo._  
[ _open IMG file?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

Another photo he wasn’t prepared for. _Everything_ is off now. You’re completely naked, lying across your bed, the twinkle of fairy lights draped across your headboard perfectly illuminating your skin. You look a little red in the neck and chest. The pulse in his eardrums has drifted down to his cock. 

_look who’s talking  
you’re a goddess, you are_

**oh yeah? show me how you worship, then**

He almost doesn’t text back -- one hand starts palming at his crotch as he types furiously with the other. This is stupidly unfair, this is absolutely harshing his entire shtick --

_how i  
geez you’re merciless aren’t you_

**what’s wrong, raihan  
too flustered?   
or too busy jacking yourself off**

He growls into a laugh, leaning back to hold up his shirt with his teeth, sliding his hand into his shorts proper. The head of his cock is already wet. He twitches, sending Rotom into float-view so it can hover while he reaches for the lube. Cursing your name as he squeezes the warming fluid into his palm. 

_you really do got a mouth on you_ , he sends before leaning back. Rotom floats in front of him, camera focused on a perfect frame from the hollow of his neck all the way down to his dripping cock. Every inch of his skin is burning, face flushed -- he stares at it, debating whether or not he should really send that. You haven’t shown nearly as much. Would this be too much? Gods, this is a right hassle -- and people do this on the regular? Baffling.

_you’re about to send a photo to xxxx._  
[ _send IMG file?_ ]

His heart is pounding. Is this really okay? You sound so eager, but -- this is a lot. You would say something if that’s too much, right? Should he warn you? That would ruin the mood, wouldn’t it -- oh, fuck it

[ **OK** ]

**bet you could shut me up with that** , is your quick reply. He squeezes himself just a little harder. Pumps himself just a little faster.

_fuck_

**gods raihan  
you really have no idea, do you**

_I don’t?  
give me one, then_

_xxxx sent you a photo._  
[ _open IMG file?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. Raihan stutters for breath, staring back at the absolute gift you just sent to him. All of you, finally, wet and glistening and so, so hot. Fuck, that’s hot. He gets it. He knows now. Completely understanding the appeal. He thinks he could get used to this. 

_you’re killing me_

**pretty sure you could kill me  
those big hands of yours**

_hands? not this cock?_

**you’re a monster, you know that**

_yeah?_

[ _incoming call from xxxx_ ]

Shit -- shit, this part he wasn’t expecting -- a phone call, now of all times? It’s not enough to just show you, you want to _hear_ him too? Raihan bites harder into the fabric, jerking himself just a little harder, bringing himself just a little closer. The thought of hearing you is -- well, alright. Blimey, he can give it a go. 

[ _accept call?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

“ _You’re_ the monster,” is the first thing he breathes into the phone. You giggle into a moan, the wet sounds of you stroking yourself piercing his ears. “Making me do this. Right humiliating, it is. I've never felt so -- exposed -- ”

“But you -- like it, don’t you?” you moan back, your voice high and pitchy. “You like showing off. Only difference is -- it’s just for me -- and that somehow makes you more nervous -- doesn't it?”

Raihan groans, face getting hotter the harder he goes at it, fingers drenched in fluids. He can’t think of anything comprehensible to say, but you seem to enjoy just hearing him grunting, panting. 

“Didn’t think you -- would be so -- shy,” you murmur, coy and kittenish. “I have to admit -- it’s really turning me on.”

“Yeah?” is all he can manage, his heart rate spiking for the syrupy sweetness of your voice. 

“Yeah,” you say. He can tell you’re smiling. “Big -- charming -- guy like you -- all worked up like this -- are you close, too?” 

“Yeah,” he strains, a great pulsing in his cock -- yeah, he’s close. The staccato of your ragged breathing in his ear is certainly helping. He’s aching, wondering how that would feel -- wondering what the weight of you would feel like crushed against his chest. His heart is thudding so hard. 

“Tell me,” you say, “tell me when -- because I’m -- ”

You’re screaming. Not too loud that it’s jarring, but just loud enough to make his throat go dry. He works himself to finish right behind, his vision fading to stars going off behind his eyes. His head is swimming. Every muscle in his chest, his stomach -- tightening until the coil snaps. He’s not as loud when he cums. One thing he’s too proud to give you, yet. 

“Want to see what a mess I’ve made?” you tease. Before he can even think of what to say, you hang up, and a notification for a new photo follows half a minute later. 

_xxxx sent a photo._  
[ _open IMG file?_ ]  
[ **OK** ]

Raihan groans, stroking out the last of the aftershocks as he fixates on you, the sticky web of fluid stretched between your fingers as you spread your legs. Fuck. He lays there, chest heaving as he opens his camera for just one more photo -- one you don’t have to ask for. He thinks you’ve earned it. 

_he’ll have to do this again sometime_ , he messages you.

**how about for real next time?**

Raihan grins, tracing his fang with his tongue.

_sounds like fun._


End file.
